


fuckin' bozo idiots

by traineeghostcop



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Ryan is decidedly not an fbi agent, Ryan's laptop brings people together, Shane is an fbi agent, if only not deleting your search history turned out this way for everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 18:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traineeghostcop/pseuds/traineeghostcop
Summary: Counterintelligence Agent Shane Madej, the FBI's best, brightest and most badly-behaved, hits his third strike and is downgraded to the FBI's most bizarre project yet. He'd complain about it. He really would.But fate has really fuckin' weird plans.A tribute and love letter to the FBI agent watching me through my own laptop. I'm always here for you, as you've been for me.





	fuckin' bozo idiots

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a bunch of posts on Tumblr by habanero-hamster and boys-and-ghouls.

“The fuck do you _mean,_ ‘last straw’?!”

“Agent Madej--”

“No, no, I get it,” Shane shrugged. “I totally get it. I get it, I had it coming, and this is my final warning. It’s a soft _‘last’_ , right? Soft ‘last’.”

“I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of your actions, Agent,” Director Brunson said levelly. “And believe me, it’s as hard a _‘last’_ as it gets.”

“No, _you_ don’t understand the gravity of _my_ actions, _Director,”_ Shane snapped. “I’ve worked my ass off to keep the Counterintelligence Division five steps ahead! I’ve paid my dues, and you’ve seen all my reports! What are you gonna do, huh? _Fire_ me? Leave the division in the hands of-- of, what’s his name-- _fuckin’_ , uhh...Brandon?!”

“Brent.”

“The fuck?”

“Brent. The name of _your co-worker of five years.”_ Director Brunson ground out.

“I don’t care! You can’t do this to me! I’ve put out a _damn good_ number of fires for this division, and I leave the-- the metaphorical oven on once, and now _I’m_ the schmuck?!” Shane yelled.

The Director resisted the urge to roll her eyes, because really, she wasn’t getting paid enough for this shit. “Might I remind you that you didn’t just _leave the oven on once_ , you set the oven alight, strapped it to a rocket and launched it into the sky in the middle of Disneyland.” She said. “Metaphorically.”

“It was ONE tweet and to be fair, I thought it was pretty fuckin’ funny,” Shane said defensively.

“Well the rest of us at the FBI who still _want to be respected_ , didn’t,” Brunson retorted, and before Shane could argue, continued: “Now, I understand your point. You’ve made a great deal of sacrifices over the course of your career here. So, we’ve decided not to _fire_ you.”

“What?!”

“No,” Director Brunson, said simply, and the grin that crept over her face made Shane’s heart plummet. “Instead, you’re gonna help the Cyber Division spearhead a new project, something that’s been in the works for a while. We figured you, being so _keenly in-tune with social media_ , would be the perfect man for the job. Relax, you’ll love it.” She smirked.

 

* * *

 

“This is stupid,” Shane yelled from his console, just as Brunson turned to leave. She stopped at the door. Several other agents turned to stare, like scandalised meerkats. Assholes.

“Your mark has raised several red flags, and it is in the interest of the FBI to monitor his ins and outs,” she said simply.

“Yeah, well the FBI can have this _in and out_ its ass,” Shane muttered, flipping the finger. 

“What was that?” Brunson quirked an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

“Good. Go on and do the FBI proud, Agent Madej,” the Director shot him a thumbs-up before leaving.

Shane glowered at his console, the three screens casting a ghostly white light over his face. Fuck Director Brunson. Fuck this project. Fuck Bronx, Brand, Britney, whatever the fuck his name was. And fuck whichever weirdo’s room the camera feed currently displayed on the middle screen. Shane glanced down at the file beside his keyboard. (File, his ass. This was a single sheet of paper in a manila recycled from HR.)

_Bergara, Ryan_

_Los Angeles, CA_

_Individual displays interests that raise suspicions. Particular focus on:_

 

  * __Multicide-- specifically, highly sensationalised, gruesome cases__


  * _So-called Government conspiracies_


  * _Occult beliefs, practices and superstitions_



Yeesh.

Shane propped his feet on his desk, reaching for the first of his fifteen bags of popcorn. If he was to spend the rest of his days gazing at some hermit neckbeard’s resting-weirdo-face for hours on end, then he _definitely_ needed something to wash the taste of stale Axe Bodyspray and vape smoke out of his mouth.

Seriously, fuck whoever thought of this idea, and and he hoped whoever this weirdo was would _WHAT THE FUCK--_

The popcorn bag slipped from his fingers, spilling on the floor. The chatter of the other agents dulled into a soupy fog of white noise, and Shane was sure his eyes were wide enough to tip right out of his skull.

Because _Bergara, Ryan, Los Angeles, CA,_ just sat himself smack in the centre of his surveillance feed, so close that Shane was sure he could reach through the murky veil of scan-lines and just run his hand over--

Fuck. Fuck fuckin’ _fuck._ Shane tried to shake the feeling from his mind, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. _Pull yourself together, dumbass._

But holy. Shit. _Bergara, Ryan, Los Angeles, CA_ is fucking attractive. He’s young, both boyishly adorable and ruggedly dashing. He’s distracted now, brown doe-eyes staring listlessly at what Shane assumes is his laptop screen, a gaze so deep Shane could swim in it. Ryan’s chin is propped on the back of his wrist, veins running down his golden-tan forearm in perfectly smooth lines, softly tracing the musculature that continues to curve up his arms, dipping into the sleeves of his T-shirt. His hair is dark, gently dusting his eyebrows in smooth waves, flipped over to the side in a soft swoop. And did he mention his arms? Because--

Nope. Shane was a professional. He’d risen to the top of his division, led countless counter-intelligence operations with balls of steel, and had beaten that asshole Brat at all of his efforts to undermine his authority. Shane was a professional, and it just so happened that his new mark was _okay-looking._ For all Shane knew, he could have a basement full of dismembered rats and pentagrams drawn in blood. Or something. And everyone would be none the wiser because Ryan Bergara was _ridiculously cute._

And so Shane stopped gaping, and put his Professional-FBI-Agent-Shane-Alexander-Madej-of-the-Counterintelligence-Division face on.

And watched.

 

* * *

 

 

Shane was still watching, three days into the project. And as it turned out, Ryan Bergara was no such homicidal whack-job. The guy ran a small-time radio talk show, where he’d Mulder-out for a half-hour about the _oddest_ of shit every Thursday afternoon. Shane found this out when Ryan received a call from someone named Steven one day.

“Hey! Steven!” Ryan chirped into his phone, and it suddenly occured to Shane that this was the first time he’d heard Ryan’s voice, and seen anything other than blank-faced Internet-scrolling. “What’s-- oh my god, no way--are you serious?!”

Shane subconsciously leaned forward, pretty curious to find out what had Ryan so excited. As it turned out, the guys whose slot ran right before Ryan’s had cancelled their show, and this Steven guy had managed to procure said slot.

Currently, Ryan’s eyes were wide and brilliant, mouth parted in a charmingly droopy half-smile as he hung up and sat there, clearly still trying to process the news. A warm thrill of pride ran through Shane, though he didn’t know why.

All he knew was that he was deeply invested in Ryan Bergara’s life. Honestly, it felt a little odd. Like Ryan was his personal Kardashian, or something. But that was different, Shane reasoned. The happy little feeling in the pit of his stomach told him so.

Shane shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth, and made a note on his phone’s calendar.

 

_Thursday, 4:30pm-5:30pm_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is short as fuck but it's the only thing I got now so uhhh...if you've got any ideas feel free to sound off! #chimeoffbro
> 
> This bears a few similarities with another Spy AU I wrote for Unsolved, I realised that, but they're different things.


End file.
